


I, Who

by TheArchaeologist



Category: Disney - All Media Types, The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: Child Quasimodo, Childhood, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Thoughts on letting children die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 07:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12743487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArchaeologist/pseuds/TheArchaeologist
Summary: A look into the relationship between Quasimodo and Frollo, from Frollo’s perspective.





	I, Who

As a babe, Quasimodo was a quiet child, happy to occupy himself within the confines of the cot. That suited Frollo just fine. He came once every morning and checked on his new charge, who was being cared for by the Archdeacon and a handful of nuns, before leaving to attend his duties for the day. At the very least the Archdeacon understood that he had not the time to care for an infant alone.

However as a toddler, Frollo was forced to spend more time with the boy. Quasimodo had taken to babbling whenever he came to visit, a clear sign he would begin forming his words soon, and providing the perfect window to install some much needed boundaries and understandings while the mind was fresh and mouldable. 

“No, Quasimodo.” He said, his voice stern and harsh as the child tugged in his robs. Even if he had not understood the words, Quasimodo backed down, face falling. Good. 

As he grew, Frollo begun spending brief meals with him, deciding to be more subtle with the boundaries between them by using different cutlery. Frollo has a silver chalice, Quasimodo had a wooden cup. Frollo dined upon a fine polished metal plate, Quasimodo used a slab of wood. Occasionally confused eyes would dart between their plates, but Quasimodo never voiced any question on the matter and Frollo felt a brilliant thrill in letting the thoughts swirl around the child’s head unexplained. 

Today, they were eating grapes. Frollo tended to enjoy grapes, though they were hard to get fresh in the city. Still, he was a high ranking citizen and had the money to be able to purchase those from further south, allowing him to enjoy the fruit more frequently than the simple crowd. Actually, he needed to write to the vineyard again, to send his money forward for the next crop. Once this little chore was done, he would need to go back to his house and start the letter.  
Frollo was brought out of his musings by the sound of coughing, and turned to face Quasimodo. The child was angled away, hand on his chest, and clearly choking.

Frollo watched, eating another grape.

If the child did not have the sense to chew his food, then what did he expect to happen? And what did he expect Frollo to do about it? If the child wheezed himself to death, then it was no skin off his nose. If fact, it worked out rather in his favour. Quasimodo dying of a natural death, one that the Archdeacon could not blame on him, it was almost perfect. 

Oh, it was a tragedy. Frollo had only walked away for a few minutes, having realising he had dropped his keys on the stairs, only to return to Quasimodo dead on the floor. An act of God, one might say.

Something incredibly large and heavy thundered into the floor directly beside him, hard enough to shake the timber platform and cause Frollo to dive out his chair from the sheer shock. Breath caught in his throat and hat now lost under the table, Frollo stared as the gargoyle crumpled into pieces, the head rolling to gaze up at him. Stone carved pupils never left his face, silent, watching, judging.

“C-come now, Quasimodo, spit it out.” He stood shakily and came around the table, hitting the child's back while glancing at the gargoyle out of the corner of his eye. “Come on now.” 

The grape went bouncing across the floor. Quadimodo breathed heavily.

“Let this be a lesson to you boy, you must _chew_ your food, not inhale it like some street dog.”

“Yes, Master.” Quasimodo croaked. 

When the hunchback became older, Frollo realised he needed an activity to keep him distracted. As with most children, Quasimodo was curious, eager to climb about and get hold of everything. While the phrase "curiosity killed the cat" came to mind, Frollo was not all that bothered on enforcing any rules against the clambering of the bell tower. Broken necks kill, after all. 

Still, Frollo always glanced to the beams above him when he sat at the table.

Unfortunately, a bored child is a disobedient child, and if Quadimodo wanted to be disobedient than that could lead to some unsavoury outcomes for Frollo. The last thing he needed was for the boy to run around explaining to everyone how Judge Claude Frollo had raised him.

“Tell me, Quasimdo, what did Joseph do for a living?”

The seven-year-old shifted in his seat.

“Is this a test, Master?”

“No, but answer the question.”

“He was a carpenter.”

“Indeed. And such as Joseph was the backbone to Mary during the birth of Lord Jesus, so are carpenters to us.”

A small confused frown settled over Quasimodo's features as he thought that over.

“Do you understand why?” Frollo asked, enjoying the brief flash of anxiety that darted across his face.

“Is... Is it because...” He waved his hand a little as he struggled with the words. Then he looked up, and pointed. “Like that?”

“The beams?”

“Uh-huh, so while people built the cathedral, it was carpenters who held it together while the stone was being laid, the framework.”

“I suppose.”

“And then, it was carpenters who made the beams, so we can look after and ring the bells. Like Joseph looking after Mary, carpenters let us look after God's building.”

Large bright eyes looked eagerly at Frollo, who kept his head up to stare at the bells.

“That's a very interesting take, Quasimodo.” He said no more, and eventually noticed the boy droop from the corner of his eye.

“Did I get it wrong?”

“No... It's just not where I intended this conversation to go.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Master.” He fidgeted. “Where did you want it to go?”

“I have arranged one of the churchmen to teach you carpeting.” Frollo fixed Quasimodo with a stern but neutral gaze. “He will be coming thrice a week, and I expect you to practice between lessons along with your other chores.”

“O-oh! Of course Master! I'll work hard, I promise!”

After all, a busy hand and busy mind left no room for wandering, though he had not expected to receive a miniature version of himself on Christmas day. He had given a rather stiff smile, praised the child on being eager with his studies, and flung it into the first cabinet he found when he got home. 

The only reason it was saved the fire was because it could be a potential pawn later, if Quasimodo ever needed nudging back into his control.

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t expect anyone to read this, because there’s hardly a Hunchback of Notre Dame fanbase, but I recently revisited the film and Frollo and Quasimodo’s relationship was simply too delicious to not explore. So there you go. 
> 
> For those who did read this, I hope you enjoyed it! I appreciate any comments!


End file.
